Only For You
by Aruna Mendel
Summary: Hermione is the main character in this fanfiction set in the future. She is caught between a rock and a hard place, so to speak, and seems to have a way out that she is not exercising. We find, however, that Hermione is acting on the behalf of someone els
1. Stripped

Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own any of J.K. Rowling's characters; they belong to her. And I guess Warner Bros., but isn't that saddening, too?

Also, I do not own the rights to the play _Loyalties_ by Murphy Guyer, or any of its characters. I am using quotes only.

Author's Note: Please rate/review/etc. Do not hesitate to email me, unless you hate my work and send me chain letters and viruses. Under those circumstances, I must ask that you keep your feelings to yourself. This is the first fan fiction that I have written in a long while, so I hope you will tell me if I am doing something wrong. Thank you!

Only For You

Chapter 1: Stripped

"Don't call me that! Don't you ever call me that!"

"Well, stop picking on everybody."

"You're supposed to be my wife!"

"But Katrin's my sister."

Hermione Granger watched the petite actress on the stage, hissing in her on-stage husband's face. She was filled with awe; and hope, that maybe someday she, too, could stand up to someone. But she had been beaten into submission; her brains were now useless to her. The strong young woman that she once was had bowed down to a new figure: a tired thirty-four year old that couldn't make eye contact if her life depended on it.

Because, of course, it relied on someone else's. She let herself down everyday to feed the gnawing in her gut. She had to protect him.

A light change brought Hermione back to consciousness. Four actors and actresses bowed on the harshly-lit stage, grinning from ear to ear. _Time to go home. _She walked through the small parking lot slowly, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. She checked her watch. _Damn! It's 10:04, I'm late. _Now visibly stricken with fear, she leapt into her car and sped home.

At the end of her street, Hermione got out and started to push the car. _This way, maybe he won't hear me. _Fortunately, she lived at the tip of a cul-de-sac, and didn't have to turn the car with her body. She didn't bother with the garage, knowing that it made a horrific amount of noise. The door creaked slightly as she entered her home; she stopped in her tracks. Her brown eyes were bulging out of their sockets as she stood in between the two wooden doorjambs like a deer in headlights. When no noise was detected from the interior of the house, she slowly shut the door. She crept up two carpeted flights of stairs and threw her coat into a small guest bathroom.

There was a large oak door at the end of the hallway. Hermione took a deep breath, and slowly turned the brass knob. She noticed that there was a long lump under the covers of her bed, and she breathed a sigh of relief. _He's asleep! Perhaps I'll make it after all. _After slipping her shoes off and laying them next to the bed, she silently wrapped the covers around her shaking body. _I think I have gotten away with it..._

"Just a bit late, aren't you?" She hadn't been sneaky enough, she realized, as the bedside lamp opposite hers was suddenly switched on.

"I-I don't know what you mean..." Hermione's voice drifted off when she glanced at the silhouette glaring down on her. Draco Malfoy looked the same that he did when he became a Death Eater sixteen years ago; his golden locks slicked back over his head. His grey-blue eyes seemed to bore into Hermione's skull as she fought back tears.

Draco shook his head. "Oh, you know what I mean exactly. I ask one thing of you, _one thing, _and you can't do it. All I wanted was a hot dinner at about 7 o'clock, but where are you when I come home after _slaving away for twelve hours _at work? You're 'out'."He snorted with revulsion. "You know, I gave up so much to keep you in my life. To get you away from those Muggle parents of yours. I lost my friends and my father, and it's all because of you! You are such a filthy little Mudblood!"

"Shut up!" Hermione screamed, in a voice that was not her own. "Shut up! I am not a Mudblood!" Draco lifted his arm to backhand her, and then thought better of it.

"No, darling," he sneered. "You are perfectly right. You're less than a Mudblood now. You're less than a Muggle. You are dirt."

Hermione grimaced. "If I am dirt, it is because of you." Her husband gave an evil laugh.

"And do you know why that is? Do you know why I have kept you from the wizarding world for so long?" A sincere smile now graced his thin lips. "It's because I truly care about you, dear. You see, I know that you cannot be trusted with a wand out there in the world; you aren't intelligent enough. That is why we're living in this _dump_," he glared again, "and I haven't spoken to my father in almost sixteen years."

"You gave up _nothing_ to have me in your life!" Hermione shouted. "It was your _plan _for your father to disown you; I was just a meaningless pawn..."

"That is not the point! You made me think you loved me! I'll admit, it was rather convenient to be seduced by a Gryffindor Mudblood when all I wanted was to get away from Lucius, but now I know the real reason you are here!" Draco's voice softened to a low snarl. "I have known, for all of our marriage."

Hermione inhaled sharply, and then shook her head. "I don't think you do," she said quietly. "I think you are bluffing about that, Draco. But you do have one thing right. Nothing that I do is for you."

--:--

Later that night, when Draco had finally left her, Hermione sobbed into her pillow. She had been stripped of her dignity yet again, and the only witnesses to Draco's violation of her body could not speak.

Perhaps someday, somehow, or somewhere, Hermione could find the strength to let go of her secret and her fears. But for right now, all she could see in her future was the dark of her bedroom, slowly assuaging her pain and lulling her to sleep.

Author's Note: Excuse the reference to _West Side Story_, I thought it fit. Again, please rate/review, email me if you wish. Thank you.


	2. A Chance Encounter

Author's Note: Thank you for reviewing slyswn28 and ErytaLove15! I am sorry that I haven't updated in a while... My mother messed up the cookies on our computer and I had to fix it so I could log in.

Chapter 2: A Chance Encounter

Things were calm in the Malfoy home for quite some time, as Hermione had expected. She had learned early on in their marriage that they had the huge rows only when pressure and hurt feelings had been accumulating. Although things were now on the mend, and none of these pressures seemed apparent, Hermione was still on her guard. As her mother once told her, it was better to be safe than sorry.

One morning, before Draco left for work, he handed his wife a moneybag that, despite it small size, was jammed full of Euros.

"Wh-what's this?" Hermione stuttered, taken aback at his random act of generosity.

"I want to... I want to apologise. I acted a fool the other night (the words _you've got that right_ flashed through Hermione's head), and I just want to make up for it. So, go to London. Have a blast." He gave a weak, apologetic smile.

Hermione opened her mouth, probably to say something along the lines of _you think money will make up for your behaviour?_ then closed it. She smiled. "Thank you so much. Thank you for understanding." Draco leaned down and lightly kissed her cheek.

"But remember, dear," he turned back while walking toward the door, "If you step foot in Diagon Alley, prepare to deal with the consequences." Hermione gave a small nod, almost unnoticeable.

"Of course." Draco looked pleased.

"Well, then, now that we have that settled! Have a marvelous day. I will see you at seven with a hot dinner?"

"Right. Have a fine day at work." Fine would be the antonym for Draco's work, however, unless one would consider torturing and killing for Lord Voldemort as a grand way to spend one's time.

With her husband finally gone, and a full day ahead of her, Hermione went upstairs to change. She hung her terry cloth bathrobe on a hook in her bathroom, and then slipped on a pair of blue jeans. Even though she was thirty-four, she had maintained her figure; and the fitted navy turtleneck sweater she pulled over her head accentuated her smooth curves perfectly.

She took a bus to London, where she promptly sat down in the nearest bookshop with a latte and the latest Peter Robinson. The plot was thickening when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Hermione whirled around to face a tall, lean man, who just happened to have dark, unkempt hair and piercing green eyes.

"Hermione?" Harry asked incredulously, "Is that you?"

Oh, how she wanted to leap into his arms and never see the cold glare of Draco Malfoy ever again! She hoped, though, that Harry could not see this horrible longing behind her eyes.

"You must be mistaken..." Hermione replied slowly. "That is not my name."

"No, I would know you anywhere! Hermione, what has been going on?

"Please leave me alone, sir," she said, slowly standing and moving towards the exit. "You must have me mistaken for someone else. I've got to go now." She walked swiftly out the door to escape Harry's intense stare, but had apparently forgotten something: a security alarm blared loudly as Hermione stood in the doorway, blushing, holding a "stolen" book. The manager quickly ran to her, ushering her inside.

"You tryin' to steal this, lady?" he spat, his red, sweaty face contorted with greed.

"No, no, I-I suppose I just forgot to pay for it, I..." Hermione's voice faltered. She looked down. The manager grimaced and wiped his nose with his shirt-sleeve.

"I guess we'll just have to keep you here until the police come," he muttered.

Hermione started to defend herself yet again, but Harry cut in. "There will be no need for that, sir! And I do not appreciate you treating my wife in this manner. Do you not know who I am?"

Hermione threw a sharp look in Harry's direction, but he seemed not to notice. The manager rolled his eyes.

"No, I don't. Who?"

"I am Prince Charles' gardener, Alan Titchmarsh! Now will you please let us go?" Hermione's mouth dropped open. Harry's audacity was stunning! As were other things belonging to him, but... those assets were not really for Hermione to know about.

The manager had obviously noticed those assets, because he looked sceptical. "You don't really look like him."

"I've had major plastic surgery," Harry whispered, as if it was a secret of utmost importance. "Got to look good for the cameras, don't I?" The manager looked puzzled, and then disgusted.

"Just go, I don't give a damn. I'm getting a migraine," he mumbled. Hermione dropped the book and practically ran out the door. Harry followed suit, laughing loudly.

Hermione glared at Harry. "Just what _exactly_ are you trying to pull? What the hell was that? God... Alan Titchmarsh?" she snapped, although it was obvious that she was holding back laughter.

"I just, ah, saved your dignity, dear," Harry chuckled. "And Aunt Petunia always used to watch Ground Force when I was little. Er...now can we talk? Have you acknowledged my existence?"

"All right, it was rather funny, but..." Hermione shook her head. "You cannot be in contact with me, Harry, it's not safe. He... he has spies everywhere."

Harry looked concerned. "Who? Who has spies, Hermione?" His long-lost companion sighed.

"It's complicated. Just... there is one place!" she shouted, with the eagerness of a six-year-old on Christmas morning. She rummaged though her purse and extracted a pen and an old grocery receipt. On the back of the receipt, she hastily scribbled an address.

"Meet me at this place tonight, at 7 o'clock. Don't," she said sharply, "be late."

Harry watched as Hermione nodded as a good-bye, then turned and walked towards the bus stop.

"A chance encounter," he whispered, smiling.

Author's Note: My mum is obsessed with Ground Force.... My writer's block is gone! Please read/review/email me. I might start another Hermione-based fic, set in this time period. Tell me if you like this stuff!


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